Stories from the Sigmaverse
{|style="width:100%; color:#FFF;" |valign="top" style="padding:5px;"| {|style="width:100%; color:#FFF;" |valign="top" style="padding:5px;"| A collection of short stories written by Brodie-001. Enjoy. Cleaning It wasn't the knife in the back that surprised Alec. Well, it was surprising. One moment he was checking his datapad, the next his back had sprouted a rather large knife as a gloved hand was clamped over his mouth. As a so-called 'Insurrectionist', Alec knew that the UNSC had agents everywhere, and being paranoid generally got you through to the next day. The datapad fell from his outstretched finger and clattered onto the floor as his body jerked. Waves of pain coursed through him as the knife twisted. Slowly. He had glanced into the floor-length mirror seconds before, and what he had seen had chilled him to the bone. "Quiet now, Mister Jarvis. It'll all be over soon" The voice was soft, comforting. Like wine, Alec thought. The voice was that of Doctor Alexander Redford, who had joined his group almost three months ago. His file had checked out: A hundred thousand creds on his head for blowing up a UNSC armoury. He had been accepted into the unit, becoming well-liked and respected. Hell, he had patched up Alec himself after a lucky guardsman had shot him in the leg. "Why?" he hissed, words barely audible through the vice-like grip over his mouth. In the mirror in front of him, Redford's face came into view. He was an average-sized man, mid-fifties, with thinning hair and quite a well-spoken accent. A malicious grin split across his face as he removed the knife, spinning Alec around to face him. Their eyes met, Alec's light blue to Redford's maroon ones. It was like staring into an abyss. "I'm sorry about this, truly. It's just business, you see" Redford pushed Alec back against the mirror, cracking the glass. He slid down it slowly, trailing blood, and slumped to the ground. His vision blurred and dimmed as his killer wiped the knife off with a cloth, before concealing it once more in his belt. Sweeping around the room, Redford hurriedly checked for information on the desks, plugging a tiny device into Alec's terminal before turning back to the dying man. "Still alive I see? Good. You won't want to miss this part" There were voices not far off, faint but audible. Redford scooped up his datapad, that same grin on his face. Alec couldn't feel much anymore. All he could remember was the face. Redford stepped into the darkness. Alec tried to move, but couldn't. The door to the apartment slid open, and three figures stepped in. There was a scream, and one of them ran to him. "Alec! Alec, can you hear me!" "Shit, where's the doc? Red!" Their voices were muffled. Alec raised his head slightly to see a worried young woman crouched before him. It was Gemma, one of his comrades. She was checking his pulse with one hand. The other held a loaded pistol. The two others, Lokir and Otis, had also drawn their weapons, their eyes darting around for an attacker. "Who did this Alec? Was it the Doc?" He couldn't speak. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. Shouldn't I have died yet? he wondered. Looking down, there was a lot of blood from his wound. Gemma lifted his head up, and turned towards the others. They were wary, alert. It didn't help them one bit. As Otis turned back to reply to Gemma, the shadows parted. There was a flash of silver. followed by a spray of blood from his throat. Before his knees had hit the floor, Redford had leapt towards Lokir. The knife flashed once, twice, thrice, a blur as more of the dark red ichor spurted from Lokir's face. The big man staggered back, screaming. He tried to raise his weapon, only to have it fall from his grip as his wrist was slashed, the gun falling into waiting hands. Moving quickly, almost gracefully, Redford span around Lokir as Gemma fired on him. Unscathed, his form dived away while the second and third shots impacted on Lokir, silencing his screams. Redford uprighted, raising the stolen weapon as he did. Alec flinched as the back of Gemma's head exploded over him. The woman slid silently to the floor, her expanding pool of blood mixing with his. Redford looked down at the pistol in disgust, holding it at arms length. He let it drop to the floor. The look faded from his face. It was the same look that Alec had seen in the mirror. It was as if Alexander Redford's face, that almost constant smile, the reassuring voice and caring personality, had been replaced with that of another being entirely. It was a bestial snarl, teeth bared, hands more like talons as he extinguished the lives of others. Though he did not know this, Alec was one of the few to have seen the look twice. Redford approached. "Well, that was...exhilarating. I bet you're wondering why you are still alive, Alec. Am I right?" Alec tried to nod, but couldn't. He felt tired, barely able to lift his head. Redford crouched before him, lifting his chin up. Once again, he faced those deep, abyssal eyes, gates into hell itself. "That's quite all right, Alec. The poison I administered on the blade would slow your death for a while. How about this: One blink for yes, two for no?" Alec blinked once. "Very well then. I suppose that you of all people deserve some deal of closure before your death. It is these poor fools, rude people-" he said the word with a great deal of disgust in the same manner that one might say 'murderer' "-lying here that suffered truly, dying in seconds. You get to experience all of it, Alec. Isn't that exciting?" Two blinks. "No? So much for the art of civilised conversation, even with a dead man. I had better be off then. My work, my art, is never finished after all. Other places to 'clean up', and so on, though I have enjoyed the last few months. Close your eyes" Alec complied. Why not? he couldn't concentrate anyway. The blurry figure faded from view as he closed his eyes. There was a brief rustle of movement, then nothing. His head slumped down once more. Redford sighed. Having brought his knee up below Alec's chin to kill him was so simple, annoyingly uncomplicated for his liking. This assignment had not been terrible by his standards, but rather slow. He would have probably eliminated this lot out of boredom had his contacts at the Office of Naval Intelligence not contacted him. The war had been over for six years now, but his work had not slowed at all. Oh well, he thought, shrugging to the bloodied corpses around him. Time to clean. There was no need to move the bodies. No one had heard the gunshots, and the 'fight' had been over too quickly to cause any damage. He removed his device from the terminal. A green light indicated that it had been filled, no doubt with all kinds of delicious information pertaining to the Insurrection. Stowing the device away, Redford stepped calmly over Lokir's mutilated corpse, and headed for his room, where he retrieved the C13 explosives he had stashed away. It was quite funny, looking at it from his perspective. He kills a rebel cell, blows the place up, and it gets blamed on more rebels! For someone bothered with, say, the moral implications, it may have been a problem, but not for Redford. He had been at this game long enough to know that it was better just not to care. Setting the explosives carefully, his practised hands ensuring that each was remotely linked to the detonator, Redford checked over the corpses once more. The three of them had stepped out to get some supplies, leaving Alec alone with him. Had they been gone longer, then he may have been able to set up something more elaborate, more...fun. The grocery bag yielded better treasures than the various material goods and chemicals that would probably go into mediocre bomb-making: A bottle of wine. Smiling at his luck, Redford uncorked it and placed it on the table, drawing himself a chair. He was careful not to get any blood on his immaculate shoes. He glanced around the room. No glasses. How they intended to drink this was a mystery. This piqued his curiosity. Taking out a small device, he ran it over the bottle, it's green light scanning the contents. Redford could recall, almost two decades ago, watching his partner flailing around, clutching her throat as poison took her. He couldn't quite remember her name-was it Shelley?- not that it really mattered. She had bad taste in music. Content that the wine was unpoisoned, he took a small swig from the bottle, and nearly spat out the contents. It may well have been poison. Vintage 2350? Pish! He stood up, leaving the bottle on the table. Grabbing his charcoal grey coat from the rack, he exited the apartment, barely casting a glance at the slaughter behind him. Minutes later, Redford was several streets away, having embraced the cold night of the city. He toyed with the detonator for several moments, took a deep breath, and pressed the button. The explosion rocked through the streets, followed closely by screams and panic. Satisfied, he strode off towards the Spaceport, activating his communicator as he did. After a few moments, his ONI handler answered. "This is Eagle Eye. Red, is your mission complete?" "All targets have been eliminated." "Good work, Doctor. We'll have a transport waiting, along with your pay. We've got another assignment waiting when you get back to Earth" "I'm looking forward to it. May I ask what this assignment entails?" "You'll be fully briefed when you get home. Something to do with Spartans. We'll see you there, over and out" Redford smiled. He had never had the opportunity to work with the fabled warriors before, and was genuinely interested, something rare for the veteran agent. His mind briefly flicked back to the apartment where he had lived for the past few months, and the people he had collaborated with for that time. In the end, their deaths had meant as little as the hundreds of others he had used his considerable skills on over the years. Well, this would be enjoyable. ---- Rebirth Pain. That was the first thing Jack felt. His eyes opened slowly. From what he could tell, he was being suspended in some kind of tank. Numerous wires were attached to his ruined form. Then it all came flooding back. Jack. That's my name. He had no surname, no family, nothing. Just a name and a number. Eighty-Five. It had meant something once, years ago. The Rebellion. His fight. The Array. His battle. Marco. His failure. Jack could recall every moment of the fight with perfect clarity. How they had fought on the rocky plains where his ship had crashed, blows and counter-blows traded in perfect sequence, the simultaneous, visor shattering punches that had staggered the two of them back. Meeting face to face. It had been twenty five years since their last meeting. Jack had been much younger, but no less determined. No less filled with rage for his captors. Marco had been weak, foolish. His best friend had been brainwashed into staying, fighting for a lost cause. Somehow, Jack had always known that they would meet again. Marco's face was scarred from decades of war. There was dark stubble under his chin and that same defiant look he had met Jack with twenty five years before, on Earth. His eyes, those piercing green eyes, stared unblinkingly at him, reflecting his foe. Jack saw himself in those eyes. His face, contorted into an inhuman snarl of anger, his manic eyes staring straight back. For the first time in his life, despite all of his achievements, his kills and his conquests, Jack was afraid. Not of his enemy, but of himself. In those eyes, for that split second, he saw the monster he had become, the lunacy and the absolute destruction that he had wrought upon himself. He should have surrendered at that moment, made amends with his brothers and joined. It was only a second. One moment of doubt in a lifetime of certainties. Instead, he lunged forward, dived headfirst into the madness. They had fought on anyway, in silence. They had trained together, knew eachothers every strength and weakness. Jack was the cunning one, the perceptive one. Always had been. A quick glance showed him a weapon lying in the dirt beside the armoured, unconscious body of another former friend. Marco was stronger, both physically and mentally. The only chink in his psyche had been removed before Jack's 'departure'. He had dived for the pistol, rolling before spinning round to level it. Marco was already there, and they were back to fists. That was when it hit him. He just didn't have it. A swift kick knocked Marco to the ground. He knew he wouldn't hit him, but aimed the weapon all the same. Then, high above him, the last nine years of his life burst into flame. A cursory glance upwards told him that, and something broke inside him. Not for the first time in his life, Jack ran. He had followed the falling fire for hours, to the rocky heights where it had crashed. No pursuit. Panic. Loss. Emotions flooded through him. He was confused, staggering about the twisted metal as more rained down around him. He had wept. Wept?! Aimlessly he wandered, until something gave way. It was not, thankfully, his sanity. What had once been a piece of titanium battleplate, weakened by the fall through the atmosphere and the subsequent impact, broke under the weight of his stolen MJOLNIR armour. He fell. Down. Down. Down. Darkness. Everything was broken. Fire did little to illuminate the nothingness that surrounded him. Suddenly, he felt a strange feeling of separation. Looking down, another falling piece of metal had severed the lower part of his body, just above the legs. That hurt. He had screamed and screamed until the blissful blackness had taken him. Ah, the pain. Which brought him back to his present moment, suspended motionless in a gel-filled tube, the only sounds being barely audible mechanical motors from his extremities as tiny pieces of metal were affixed to him. Where was he? Is this hell? he wondered. "You live" A voice. No, a chorus of voices Jack tried to open his mouth, but no sounds emerged. A heavy breathing device had been clamped over it. Who was that? "We represent the first awakened of a kind beyond your knowing" How had they known what he had thought? Unless... Where am I? What is happening to me? "You are in our resting place, our tomb. We are repaying your favour for awakening us" Awakening? "You, creature, will become what you have always been destined to be. You will be our herald, our vanguard. You will know greater power than any of your kind, a God in walking form. You will serve in our pantheon as the voice of the Silence" He didn't quite understand what the mysterious voices meant, but some things made sense to him. Namely the 'greater power' part. I accept. He thought about all those who had wronged him. He had spent his entire life being abused, abandoned, betrayed. No longer. He had nothing now, no connections to anything or anyone. Nothing but his anger. "We knew you would. Once you have been unleashed, none will stand against you. Do you have a name?" Jack. "Simple. Weak. Meaningless. You will serve us as Reave, when the time truly comes. As for now, your rebirth into a greater being is in progress" Reave. That sounded nice. Jack smiled beneath his mask, ignoring the pain it caused. He would decide his own name, though. Already, a plan was forming in his mind. Genius. He would be the first of a new breed. Those who stood against him would be thrown down, be they Human or Covenant. The voices were right. Once he had been remade, Jack would be a God among lesser creatures, perfect and ageless. Even the Spartans would pale in comparison when compared to him. All those who dared face him would face annihilation. And Marco? Well, he had all the time in the world to create the most exquisitely painful forms of demise for his former brother. Somewhere in his mind, the tiny piece of regret and remorse, the fear and the vulnerability, his humanity, all those emotions that had been conjured up in that second of looking into those green eyes, were crushed. In that chamber, deep beneath the scarred surface of Endrin, all that remained of Jack-085, the Spartan, died. Forever. ---- Tough Night Departure Category:Brodie-001